An Atlantic Phosphorescence
by Reminscees
Summary: "Arthur never believed that his future was tied to the dreams of his past, his future was unable to be predicted and he would take it was it came, but Alfred believed in the attachment between the two in the same way that he was concentrated, fixated, on sustaining the permanent attachment between them." Alfred and Arthur share the hope for a phosphorescent dream.


An Atlantic Phosphorescence

It was long ago, when he still had to sail over the Atlantic in a large procession for weeks and months, that Arthur realised and understood that Alfred was, in many ways, a far too great of a liar, for he promised Arthur many things in his foolish history that he never received but maybe that was what drew him to him again and again, the sheer bravery Alfred had which urged him to repeat a beautiful lie again and again and again. He pledged alliance to his glorious lies of greatness, of freedom, and of endless skies like he swore to his flag.

Alfred was not at all like his flag. He was not pure or innocent. He was just proud. Too damn proud, just like everyone else, Arthur found. Perhaps including himself, perhaps his own flag was tainted just like the entire world and universe turning behind him in a downwards spiral, doomed to repeat.

Life was very pessimistic, nowadays, but Alfred simply wasn't like that. He seemed to have this light, this glow, this illumination which drew everyone around him into him, as though they were falling, haunted by lost promises just like Arthur was. He was hopeful in a refreshing way, and Arthur found himself falling into him, deeper and deeper which each day, so far down that it scared him because Arthur understood that Alfred's soul was tar-black like his own, and he could only hide it through the holy light that Arthur saw flashing with excitement when he spoke about his visions, which he described so vibrantly and vividly others turned around, captivated be the brief words they could understand.

Arthur understood them all, all of his words and dreams, and was hooked, not immediately, of course, but as time went on and things got more difficult, he held on to Alfred's words of hope and wonder, spoken to him in a phosphorescent light as they leaned onto each other, fingers intertwined in a frightfully secure manner, talking excitedly yet in a tired and quiet tone. Alfred was, to others, not a person or a nation, but a dream, a vision, a youth who was simply tremendously excited by life.

Both of them followed each other and were dependent in a way that far too natural for either, and they wished together, in the early way they had, before everything became so much sadder and perceptive and blank. Their wishes were different, naturally, it used to be that the present would remain as glorious as it was, but now, they looked to the future, perhaps because they had promised the world that they would tame it and make it predictable again.

It was contradictory, like many things between them and the world around them, as Alfred was never to be tamed, and neither would Arthur, he liked to believe but he doubted it silently and slowly, as Alfred wanted to be ceaseless and free. Alfred was jealous of the freedom that the sky felt, because he understood that he was borne to someone, something, some place, and that he would never truly have a choice at anything. It was difficult, living with such a mindset, but Alfred would never change it, and Arthur understood him in a way that it pained him to look at him on some days.

Arthur didn't like Alfred. He just didn't. He was a liar and selfish and an egoist. Alfred often told Arthur stories of destiny and the love he felt towards him, but Arthur wasn't a fool, he wasn't in love with Arthur, and neither was he in love with Alfred. Why would he be? He had silly promises and a naive nature that made Arthur feel vulnerable and small and mad about the world, perhaps angry about it, too. Alfred was mad in a different way, for he was mad to live, mad to talk, mad to save, delirious of the world around him and the beliefs that would never grow or cease to exist, but burn until they destroy countless worlds around him by exploding like stars into the dark universe.

Arthur never believed that his future was tied to the dreams of his past, his future was unable to be predicted and he would take it was it came, but Alfred believed in the attachment between the two in the same way that he was concentrated, fixated, on sustaining the permanent attachment between them. It felt as though it were tightly tied string between them, it burnt and hurt, with tension but security, and they were connected. The string was blindly tied in front of a cracked mirror in the endless darkness.

The light had gone out a long time ago.

The light had been gone for such a long time that they did not remember what it looked like or felt, and perhaps that was what drew Arthur to Alfred, for he resembled the light, he embodied it, the hope for tomorrow, for tomorrow we will run farther, spread our arms wider, run forwards and only forwards, as the past is gone and arguing about the past, learning from it, remembering it, will cause the loss of the future.

Alfred only ever looked forwards, to the future.

Arthur stood behind him all along.

_((Can you tell that I find the American Dream very interesting ha. 10€ say that Alfred calls everyone old sport and Arthurs like live in the moment its 2k15 but is a massive loser and wears custom fit suits that cause the government to be bankrupt wow.))_


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